mpic Hotel and parks near the front door,
beside a quaint stone fountain.
“Come.” He climbs out of the car and retrieves our
luggage. A valet rushes toward us, looking surprised—no
doub一t at our late arrival. Christian tosses him the car keys.
“Name of Taylor,” he says. The valet nods and can’t
contain his glee as he leaps into the R8 and drives off.
Christian takes my hand and strides into the lobby.
As I stand beside him at the reception desk, I feel
utterly, utterly ridiculous. Here I am, in Seattle’s most
prestigious hotel, dressed in an oversized denim jacket,
oversized sweatpants, and an old T-shirt next to this
elegant, beautiful, Greek god. No wonder the receptionist
is looking from one to the other as if the equation doesn’t
add up. Of course, she’s over-awed by Christian. I roll my
eyes as she flushes crimson and stutters. Jeez, even her
hands are shaking.
hands are shaking.
“Do . . . you need a hand . . . with your bags, Mr.
Taylor?” she asks, going scarlet again.
“No, Mrs. Taylor and I can manage.”
Mrs. Taylor! But I’m not wearing a ring. I put my
hands behind my back.
“You’re in the Cascade Suite, Mr. Taylor, eleventh
floor. Our bellboy will help with your bags.”
“We’re fine,” Christian says curtly. “Where are the
elevators?”
Miss Flushing Crimson explains, and Christian grasps
my hand once more. I glance briefly round the impressive,
sumptuous lobby full of overstuffed chairs, deserted sa一ve
for a dark-haired woman sitting on a cozy sofa, feeding
tidbits to her westie. She glances up and smiles at us as we
make our way to the elevators. So the hotel allows pets?
Odd for a place so grand!
The suite has two bedrooms, a formal dining room,
and comes complete with grand piano. A log fire blazes in
the massive main room. Jeez . . . This suite is bigger than
my apartment.
“Well, Mrs. Taylor, I don’t know about you, but I’d
really like a drink,” Christian mutters, locking the front
door securely.
In the bedroom, he puts my case and his satchel on the
ottoman
本章未完，点击下一页继续阅读。